The Daughters of Block Island by Christa Carmen EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Christa Carmen
- Language: English
- Genre: Ghost Suspense
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 3 MB
- Price: Free
Blake knows she’s in a gothic horror novel the moment she steps off the
rain-slicked ferry. The terminal is as dark and deserted as if each of Block
Island’s one thousand winter residents has hunkered down to escape the
storm. Upon closer inspection, she sees a lone, somewhat decrepit taxi, its
headlights turning raindrops into will-o’-the-wisps. Ducking her head
against the whipping wind, Blake sprints across the lot. The rippling, flintgray puddles are smaller versions of the twelve-mile stretch of ocean she’s
just crossed.
The taxi driver is no older than thirty, with shoulder-length black hair
and features that remind Blake of her Taiwanese American roommate.
When Blake knocks on the window, the woman almost drops her phone in
an effort to unlock the doors. “I didn’t really expect anyone tonight,” she
says once Blake has climbed in and stuffed her soggy backpack between the
seats. “I’m glad I came out, though, or you would have been a heck of a lot
wetter than you are now.”
She holds a roll of paper towels through the glass partition, and Blake
takes one gratefully and wipes her neck and brow. The sense of surrealness
she experienced on the ferry has extended into the taxi, like she fell asleep
in her apartment in South Boston and has since been in the midst of one
long, illogical dream. She slips a hand into her jacket pocket and fingers the
aluminum medallion, tracing the embossing on either side of it. Maybe
illogical dreams are what everything in early sobriety feels like.
“Where to?” the driver asks.
“One sec.” Blake pulls her hand from her pocket and digs around in
her bag. She unearths a tattered paperback and finds the piece of paper
stuck within its pages. “Seventeen-oh-one Mansion Road,” she reads. There
is silence, and Blake looks up to find the taxi driver staring at her in the
rearview mirror. She double-checks the address. “One-seven-oh-one
Mansion Road.” She fans the book’s pages, but that’s the only piece of
paper she has. “Is that not right?”
The driver puts the car in reverse. “No, no, that’s certainly an address.
You’re going to White Hall, then? It’s unusual for someone to be staying at
the B and B this time of year.” She catches Blake’s eye in the rearview
again and gives her a smile that’s meant to be reassuring.
Blake isn’t reassured.
She sits back against the seat and closes her eyes. That sense of
surrealness—maybe even wrongness—increases. She can almost hear the
old-timers in her Monday-night home group, can see them exchange
knowing, disappointed looks as she trudges up to exchange her thirty-day
medallion for yet another twenty-four-hour one. We told you this was a bad
idea, they’ll say, voices low, shaking their heads at her pallid complexion
and trembling hands. We told you not to go anywhere stressful, anywhere
that would threaten your sobriety. There’s a reason you’re not supposed to
make major life changes during the first year of recovery
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